Curses of your Imagination
by Shooting Starlight
Summary: [INCOMPLETE] During one sleepless night at the Dursley's in the summer of his fourth year, Harry suffers from terrible nightmares. Now, his worst one is brought to life, with disastrous happenings, frightening situations, and tragic consequences.
1. A Haunted Sleep

**Title: **Curses of your Imagination

**Author: **Shooting Starlight

**Genre: **Action/Adventure/Horror

**Rating: **PG

**Warnings: **Some violence, some mild language

**Summary: **During one sleepless night at the Dursley's in the summer of his fourth year, Harry suffers from terrible nightmares. Now, his worst one is brought to life, with disastrous happenings, frightening situations and tragic consequences.

**Disclaimer: **All characters/places etc.recognized in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter 1 – A Haunted Sleep**

The ever-stretching night had arrived another time, opening up its surroundings to the wide world and the slumber that settled upon it. The distant, but still hazy moon cast down its brightness on the streets, sending the pavements into shadow traps, created by the ordinary objects planted on the kerb.

It was late into the evening, much time after midnight, signalling to the world that this was the new age of trickery, the 31st October, and Halloween or Hallows Eve, as the people knew it. It had been one hectic night. Pranks had been carried out on the 'not-too-giving', packed with plenty of squeals. The amount of silly string, broken eggs and toilet paper on the streets was countless.

Many trick-or-treaters had already done their rounds for the night, getting back into the tradition before it left again for another year, and now lay in their beds; their costumes stained with chocolate...their tummies bulging and their smiles contented.

Only one person was not tucked up in bed. He was a skinny young boy, with brilliant green eyes behind black-rimmed glasses, rather baggy clothes and messy black hair. He walked down those deserted streets with his hands in his jeans pockets, kicking at stones and thinking deeply. His name was Harry Potter.

He didn't really seem to notice the night at all, or the time, but carried along his way as if midnight walks went out of fashion.

It was a rather chilly evening, with a slight bitter wind, which blew through tree branches with a whistle and ruffled Harry's hair as he went. He kept his eyes on the ground, concentrating on where he was going...and for this there was a thoughtful frown on his face. It was as if this path was important, and he was meant to find something at the end.

As if he had walked this path many times before...he knew the way.

There was a funny feeling in the air, and anyone who would come by would notice it. Something not friendly, or warm...for everything seemed to feel cold. And parents would hide this from their children, by bringing usual excuses.

_"It's just the ghosts returning home...they won't hurt you..."_

_"It's not a witch...it's a tree, look...the shadows make it look like that..."_

_"It's nothing...! There is nothing there...for crying out loud...a kid of your age...can't even say 'Boo' to a goose...I shouldn't be having this...if you get me up again..."_

_"It's only the ghouls...they've come out to say hello..."_

But whether they worked or no, nothing could stop them from thinking that there was something wrong about the night, even if they tried to switch their minds to something less foreboding, that feeling still lingered. This was probably the reason why the curtains were drawn shut...why the burglar alarms could be seen flashing inside doors, and even one house had bolted theirs with six or seven visible locks. It was the sense of fear that most adults hadn't felt since they were young children themselves.

Harry scuffed the pavement pensively with his trainer, still frowning, and trying to figure out where the path was taking him that he followed so carefully. He felt as if he were travelling into the centre of a maze, only that his road was already laid out before him, and it just kept going on into the shadows, far into the night...no twists or turns...one way to go.

He couldn't even remember why he was here...or where he was heading. Yet he trekked on, with a strange feeling in his stomach that he couldn't ignore.

A sudden, strong gust of wind almost blew him backwards, as if it were in the formation of another person, commanding him to turn back and not go any further. Despite the whole mystery of the night, and the uncanny loneliness all around him, he fought on, squinting past the breeze, the temperature so frostbitten his very breath could be seen on the air.

Then, as if out of a thick, black vortex...there was a light. It shimmered faintly; three or four houses away from where Harry was, flickering and dimming like a poisoned candle, green, as a cluster of emeralds...and it didn't feel safe at all. _Harry _didn't feel safe. His heart pounded uncontrollably and his muscles tensed, and his chest tightened with such a sense of apprehension he felt his lungs would burst with the pressure.

His eyes kept sight on it, mingling with the fear, the curiosity, and the colour. Although everything his mind threw at him was to 'stay put', 'keep out of trouble', 'and don't go'…he found his feet moving slowly, as if he were unable of their direction anymore.

_Maybe I was meant to find this. Maybe this was where this path was leading me here._

His steps gradually fell into a run, his breath gasping in his throat and his temples throbbing against the sound of his trainers pounding the street. He suddenly felt _desperate, _as his heart raced with the wind, which still persisted to hold him back. It was as if it were saying that he wasn't meant to be here...he _shouldn't _be here in the first place.

He almost let out a scream, with the weight of fear holding him down. His fringe hung in his eyes and his mouth suddenly went dry, as ferocious and frightening bangs rang out, echoing and rolling down the street. Something was wrong, Harry knew.

Stopping in front of the correct house, he skidded to the driveway with a halt and looked up. Besides the swollen feeling in the pit of his stomach, which was beginning to fade, another sensation was upon him. A personal feeling of happy times, a memory of a forgotten life.

He actually felt as if he wanted to smile, gripping the gateway with one hand and staring at it as if it were an old friend, coming to answer all of his confusing questions. That sense came back now, stronger...as he realised that the house felt familiar to him. Not just from the outside – but as if there were a glow proceeding from it, bringing back an old tale...and filling a gap in his mind that no longer seemed awake.

He didn't feel lost now. In fact, he didn't even wonder why he had been walking around all by himself. Because now, he felt at home.

_That was it. _This house was his _home. _Or at least it felt like it, as he broke away from the gate, a slow ice flowing through his veins at the memory of the bangs...and the light. He suddenly felt worried, wondering why others in their homes next door hadn't heard.

Now he took cautious steps into the driveway, muttering inaudible words of encouragement under his breath. A feeling of a steel hand tightened his throat, as he stared in disbelief at the door before him.

It was open, left barely more than a crack. This brought a flood of suspicions to his mind, as he knew perfectly well that doors were tightly shut after dark, and the very thought sent an ache into his heart, so powerful he thought he may collapse.

He blinked uncertainly, wishing someone to come by and close that door, or maybe even the wind...if it decided to help him this time. Harry could feel a thumping in his chest, his mouth thick and dry, and he kept thinking to himself; _I don't like it like this. Something horrible's going to happen...maybe it's happening right now. _And he had been saying this to himself in his head for the last few minutes, but nothing could compare the fright he had felt already than the one he was about to experience.

_"JAMES!" _A shrill cry rang out from the house. Someone's voice...a _woman's _voice. The very sound of it drove a knife of pure horror through Harry's chest, causing him to gasp from the brutal force. His body trembled now...from the shock and the cold.

_That woman...she sounded so terrified, so frightened...so **wounded. **She...she's hurt, she's been hurt – she's in pain! Someone's hurting her – someone's in there with her!_

Not even understanding where his feet were taking him, he found himself running, his heartbeat pulsating and his breaths desperate..._urgent. _A lump forged in his throat as he tried to call out for the woman, to tell her that he was coming to help her...she would be all right...but his voice seemed trapped and forgotten, as his eyes landed on the shadow waiting for him in the doorway.

It lay, limp and still, not moving an inch. Harry felt his mind scream as he saw it to be the shape of a body, motionless on the floorboards as if it had shrunken into a deep sleep. Or _worse..._Harry was dreading that last outcome.

As he slowly made his way over, his legs again hung down as if they were stone pillars...he managed to break them as his knees took to a crouch beside the fallen figure. _Please be alive...please don't be dead...please, let me be able to **do **something...it can't be too late...too late..._

A trembling hand reached out and shook the limp form, as softly as possible and not thinking about how heavy it seemed to be. He gulped, fighting the thoughts and to speak, though it was nothing more than a whisper. "Hello?" he gasped. "Hello? C-can you hear me? Is everything...all right?"

Just as Harry feared, no answer came. He tried to think what he should do, but his mind was blank for suggestions, and his heart dropped as a rock in the river. The sound of silence was haunting, and although it appeared the worst Harry was determined to see if the person was only hurt, and nothing more. His voice was hidden..._why couldn't he speak?_

He had to see if there was something wrong. He took the body by the shoulders and gently turned them over, looking down into their face. Harry gasped aloud, his breathing painful.

It was a man, clearly dead, with a pale complexion of frozen marble. His head was topped with untidy black hair, and open hazel eyes, hidden behind glasses...and the purest terror was written all over his face. There was a long pause, in which the knife of viciousness struck at Harry again, and _again..._into his soul...until he cried out in pain and grief.

His hand fell again to the man's arm, shaking it..._shaking..._harder than before. _Wake up...wake up – **please **wake up..._Harry found himself praying in his head. _Oh, **please...**_His throat tightened and closed, and quick tears were forced into his eyes.

"Dad?" he croaked, choking on his words.

For to his sorrow, the very face he stared down upon...the very eyes he looked into were that of his father, James Potter. They were glassy...dull, as if the life had been sucked away, and they gazed up at Harry as if pleading for a last cry of help. The side of his face was bruised, where he had fallen hard.

_"No..._NO!" Harry cried, shaking his father with all his might, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. James' head lolled about from side to side. "Dad – Dad! Wake up, _please! _Don't just...you _can't! _DAD! Wake up...please, _please..._WAKE UP!" Harry couldn't stop the screams erupting from his throat.

_Why won't he get up? _He thought madly. **_Why? _**

Even in his heart, he knew it was pointless trying. His pleads weren't doing any good...yet he didn't want to give up...he wanted his father to survive. He knew that he was dead before he even knew who he was, but now...oh, how he _wished _he could do _something! Anything..._anything to bring him back...

He dropped his hands to his lap with a moan. His father's body flickered like a flame, behind Harry's tears. He swallowed his misery...his hands were trembling.

"Dad, who _did _this to you?" he asked, his voice cracking.

Another sharp bang answered him from inside the house. Harry turned his head, staring into the door. _It wasn't over, something was still happening._ His heart began to pound again.

_That woman...she was screaming for my dad. She saw his death; she was there when he fell!_ Blind thoughts attacked his mind, _what if he had been murdered? And that woman was still inside...she was in trouble – in danger too!_ Harry suddenly had a feeling that he didn't want her to die either...because of...oh, because of - 

And then suddenly, he remembered. _Mum. _

_"No! STAY BACK! Please, STAY AWAY!" _She was screaming again, choked with tears. Harry could almost picture her face, her frightened eyes...her pleading look...

He was on his feet in an instant, his legs carrying him unsteadily. He performed a clumsy leap into the hallway, hitting his shoulder sharply, but he couldn't care. He had been too late to save his father...but he would do whatever it took not to let this woman die too...not _here, _alone in the house..._like this..._

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He couldn't even call out to warn that he was coming, that he was here to help. A loud crash sounded from within the next room, followed by a small whimper. _Mum...my mum, **no...**_ he thought then. Without even thinking of the risks, he burst through the door, panting and flushed.

He had somehow slipped into a lurid world, or so he believed. Harry stared at the scene. A tall, dark figure stood in the corner, cloaked. In the centre of the room, shaking, was a woman. She was shaking, her hand over her heart as if to protect it. Her head snapped towards Harry, her green eyes wide and afraid.

_Those eyes...they're **mine. **They look so much like mine..._

He was right, the eyes _did _belong to him. The woman was his mother, Lily Potter, as he had said. Her long, red hair hung down her back, untidy about her shoulders. She began to breathe hard and fast, trying to fight away her own instructions. Her eyes leaked with tears, and they fell upon the carpet.

"Not, Harry..._no..." _she sobbed. Her lip was trembling.

"Mum..." Harry said, gutturally, his knees bowing under a furious weight. He could only stare at her, a person portrayed as so helpless, yet so fearless. He had never imagined anyone so beautiful in a time where death hung off the very walls.

Lily hung back, hiding into herself and away from her attacker. As far as Harry peered around the corner, all he could see was the venomous dark green of those robes, and nothing more. He heard the chuckle then, of the person who had broken into his house and killed his father. _I won't let him...I won't let him – he won't kill Mum...**never!**_

Before he could even think, he was running into the room, towards Lily, commanding his legs to move. Gritting his teeth, he braced himself.

_"MUM!"_ he shouted. "NO! NO, MUM!"

With a stained face and quivering voice, he flung himself into his mother's arms and was wrapped tightly in her embrace, crying and burying his face in her shirt. She was crying too, her very sobs broke his heart. _Don't cry, Mum...I won't let him take you away from me, _he thought. _I'll never let you go._ He meant it.

Lily's hand strayed to her son's hair, stroking it comfortingly and hushing him. _"Shh..._it's all right, Harry...it's all right, I'm here..." she whispered, kissing his head.

Harry sighed under the soothing touch. He smelt the perfume on her clothes and the low thudding of her heart. This is what he had wanted..._This is what I want. _

"Mum," he said, the tears falling past his glasses. "Mum, I...Dad, he..." He didn't know what to say. What _was _he saying? She must know that his father was dead.

"I know love...I know, _shh..." _she whispered.

It was then that Harry realised the danger. The stranger was still standing behind them, the one who had caused all of this to happen...the one who had destroyed his father's _life..._and was ready to take his mother..._who is it? Who is this **person? **_Harry wondered if they even had a heart for what they were doing.

Fuming with anger, he forced himself to look around, despite his mother tugging his attention back to her.

"No, Harry..._don't, _look away..." Lily whispered, almost sounding strangled. Her eyes brimmed with silent tears. _"Harry..."_

But it was too late, now that he had seen it. His eyes travelled upwards to meet those of the robed figure...muddy green, but every so often they shone with a violent shade of red. They burned into Harry's, searching him. His face showed a furious snarl, causing the boy to gasp aloud, gripping at his mother's sleeve.

The memories washed back into Harry's head like a flood. His mouth grew dry and his heart beat faster. There was no mistaking it...it was _him. _Tom Riddle. Voldemort himself. Harry had seen that face before, in his nightmares, and in reality.

"You!" he cried out, in shock. _Not him...not **him! **_Harry thought madly. _He's here...right now, he was here when I was out on the streets...he broke into this house, my **parent's **house! He wants them **dead! **Why, **why? **What have they done to deserve this?_

But before he could breathe, his eyes were torn away from that hypnotic stare. Lily wrapped her arm around her son, dragging him behind her...so that she stood in front. Harry was now against the wall, and protected. There was no way that Voldemort could reach him now, without moving his mother aside.

Lily froze in place, suddenly determined. Four words came from her. "You'll never get Harry," she said.

They stung Harry with so much compassion, so much _love. _He didn't want her to do this...not for him. But every time he tried to move, Lily held him back, into the wall as Voldemort took a few steps closer, deepening the fear. Lily was not so fearless anymore, she was shaking...and her lips trembled.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please...not Harry!" she wept, not wanting to beg but finding she had no choice.

"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now!" Voldemort roared, the strict, commanding voice making Harry gasp again. The Dark Lord brandished his wand, advancing on Lily and showing no remorse for the courageous act she was carrying out.

Another sob burst from her throat, her voice sloped and desperate. She shook her head firmly, her beautiful face stained and lenient, whimpering softly. "Not Harry, please, no...take me, kill me instead!" she demanded bravely, her knees barely able to hold her.

Harry's heart went out to her as tears spilled down his cheeks. He couldn't _bear _this. _She's willing to die for me...she doesn't **care **how much it hurts, or how much she might leave behind...or what's waiting for her...she's prepared to go! Like **this! **_

"Mum..." he groaned, trying to pull away from her grip. "Mum, no, you can't...you can't _do _this, don't, Mum..."

Her hand only fell to his arm, stroking it, as if to say that everything would be fine. That if she were here, no one would hurt him. Harry, for a moment, believed it...and the very thought of Voldemort vanishing into thin air because of his mother's existence, was enough to satisfy him.

"Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy..." Lily sobbed. Harry thought for a moment she would fall to her knees, but she didn't.

Voldemort took another step closer, a malicious smile forming on his face. Lily wept at the scorn in his eyes, and her own dripped with tears, rolling down her flushed cheeks. "Not Harry!" she screamed. "Not Harry! Please...I'll do anything!"

The Dark Lord's frown now became brutal and vicious. "Stand aside...stand aside girl!" he growled, looking more dangerous by the second, his red eyes glinting like hot coals. Lifting his wand higher, he advanced on the sobbing woman, covering her body with his threatening shadow...

"LEAVE HER ALONE!" Harry shouted, his mind wheeling. He struggled to pull himself free, taught, desperate cries tearing from his throat. He felt his heart freeze at his mother's next words, stopping his tracks.

"I..._won't," _she said, weeping. "I – I won't let you take Harry from me! Please – oh, _please _don't hurt him...don't hurt Harry! I – I love him...I _love _him!" Her arm shivered terribly upon her son's shoulder.

His expression lighting up in spite and victory, Voldemort let out a snarl and raised his wand high, aimed taught at Lily's chest. He stared at her in disgust. "You were worthless from the beginning," he said, pulling his arm back as if to strike her down.

_No, please! _Harry thought. _Anything...do anything, not **this! No!**_

_"Avada Kedavra!" _Voldemort screeched, almost in triumph. A stream jet of green light burst from his wand, hitting Lily's chest and knocking her backwards, almost into her son. She let out one last scream for her life as the curse rippled through her body, her knees failing her into a crumple on the floor, still and lifeless. She was dead.

Harry could only watch in shock, the whole scene happening in slow motion before his eyes. Finally, he found his voice. _"MUUUM!" _he screamed.

Choking back on a tightness in his throat, he stepped out shakily and stared at her, looking down into her beautiful, pale features, her red hair swimming about her on the carpet, and his heart felt as heavy as stone in his chest. It ached so badly that he thought he would faint from the rush of pain.

_Mum...not you, not you too...no...**please... **_Harry's thoughts were again, all in futile hope. _Alone, _he knew then. _I'm all alone now. No...no! This can't be happening! Why tonight? **Why? **_

Harry lifted his gaze, seeing red, and his feet took him to stand firmly in place, the hot fire in his eyes staring directly at Voldemort. In fact, his whole body felt on fire...fire of hatred for the man who he stood before. Tears dripped fluently down his cheeks as his hands clenched at his sides, his breath escaping in hard, deep pants.

"You..." he snarled in angered rage, the blood pounding at his temples. "You..._killed _her."

"I had to, dear boy. She wouldn't do as I asked."

"You killed her! You killed them both, even though you didn't have to," Harry pressed on, his mouth dry with fury. He felt the glaze from Voldemort's eyes turning into that hypnotic feel, enlightening Harry's anger.

Voldemort nodded slowly, enjoying the look on the boy's face. "I only came to be rid of _you," _he said, raising his wand to prove his point; not wanting to waste any time. He twirled it through his fingers a while, eyeing Harry up and down, a brooding smile on his lips.

"So young," he whispered.

"What?" Harry snapped back, not understanding.

"So young," Voldemort repeated, piercing Harry with a burning, cold stare. "So young...to lose so much. Even..." And it was here he froze, waiting for the right moment to finish his sentence. "...your life," he spat. A menace fell back into his face, lighting his features with a terrible malevolence.

Harry had never seen such evil. He backed up, colliding with the wall. _Will I be able to make a run for it, _he wondered, _a break for the door? Will I be able to escape...**alive? **_

As he stood there, wondering what to do, Voldemort's wand had already been lifted into the air by his hand, with such a speed that Harry was stunned. He stood there gaping, tears spilling, and trying not to trip over his dead mother. _Oh, Mum..._ His heart ached.

_I'm sorry I did this to you, Mum...Dad, _he thought, bracing himself for the end. _This is all my fault, I've done this...all of it, and I'm sorry. I'm **sorry...**_

_"Avada Kedavra!" _came the awful voice, high-pitched and victorious, as the swish of the wand fell down on the air.

Harry could see the bright green of the spell behind his closed eyelids, and he could hear the spell rushing towards him. He clenched his teeth so hard they ached, lowering his head. He couldn't 't _move..._he only waited to join his parents in death.

Only, something a little unexpected happened.

"ARGH!" Harry screamed in pain. Instead for the monstrous spell crashing into his body; finishing his life as it were supposed to do, he felt a force give off his body. It repelled backwards from him, of a great magnitude. It almost felt as if the curse was swimming inside of him, looking for a way out.

He heard the swishing sound of the spell as it ricocheted back, followed by crashes and bangs. Then a horrified yell from Voldemort...all of it was heard in darkness. Harry heard all of this before he was blown rearward, landing on his back, his heart pounding.

He wasn't dead, but alive.

He managed to let out a winded gasp of surprise, feeling as if he had been beating all over. _I don't understand, _he thought. _Why am I...? _It was all very strange, and before he could even think about it for long, a sudden strike off pain attacked him, hitting him harder than the bullet of a gun, right upon his forehead. It felt as a hundred hammers were working away at it.

Harry writhed and groaned on the carpet, his fingers clawing at it. His throat grew sore as his breaths became harsher and more powerful.

"W-wha - " he grunted, being forced back again with another dosage of intense pain. _I...can't, **bear **this... _he thought, and in his silent terror, he felt something slowly moving down his face. A dark, thick liquid, trickling from his forehead, where he had been cut from the impact. He watched it with open green eyes, and wiped at it with his fingers.

_"Ow!" _he cried. The cut _hurt. _It hurt more than any injury Harry had ever had, and it stung so badly he felt sick. He cringed, pulling his hand away. He _had _to see what this cut was; what it looked like. He slowly turned about on his side, his arms, legs and body shaking, on his hands and knees, staring at the floor. He still couldn't believe he was alive.

Voldemort had made no sound. There was a musty smell in the air, too. Harry tried to ignore it as his sweat mixed with the blood, and focused on the broken pieces of mirror in front of him, beside his fallen mother. He gasped at his reflection. It was in the shape of a lightning bolt, three violent slashes.

_Why has this happened? _he wondered. _Why only my forehead? _He raised a hand to touch it, wincing at the pain, when he heard a voice echoing through his head. The same voice that he had heard all night..._Voldemort. _He frowned in anger.

_"That will become a scar, boy...a **scar...**your curse..."_

"My _what?" _Harry whispered. He would have this forever, it would never heal. Scars didn't _do _that. Would the pain be with him too, all his life? "No," he breathed, shaking his head slowly in disbelief.

"Yes, Harry. Your very curse...lies in the shards of that broken glass. You know what that means, don't you, when a mirror is destroyed? Seven years bad luck. For seven years you will suffer through more than you have done tonight."

Harry gulped. _Worse pain than...**tonight? **_He couldn't picture anything more horrible. "No..." he moaned again.

_"Oh, but it's true. It's my revenge, boy...my revenge for doing what you did to me, what has happened to me on this night," _said the voice.

Shutting his eyes tightly, trying to block out the pain and the sounds, Harry suddenly felt frightened. _No, no – I don't **want **this! _he screamed in his head. "No! You can't do that!" he cried, throat stinging.

_"I can, and I **will. **Your curse…that scar, will remain with you for all eternity, whether this memory of tonight may leave you or not, that mark never will. It will be with you…**forever." **_

Harry groaned, clutching his hair and blocking his ears, trying to escape into silence. "It – it _won't!" _he screamed, half-strangled. "YOU'RE LYING!"

Voldemort laughed a sinister, dry cackle. _"Lie? Me? My dear boy, I would **never **lie to you. I mean what I say. **Trust** me. You will eventually begin to understand. We are somewhat alike now, you and I...in many ways. Though we may be confused, Harry...we are going through the same mystery, you and I..."_

"NO! I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Harry roared, the flame of rage eating him whole. "I'LL _NEVER _BE LIKE YOU!" He could never imagine himself doing the same, cruel things that had happened tonight. It felt unbearable already as it was.

At this outburst, something unpredictable and so suddenly happened that it made Harry's head explode with pain. A sharp, spine-tingling hiss rang through his ears, his blood rushing cold as he backed off, covering his ears. The hissing of a snake..._ make it stop, make it stop..._ Harry pleaded, teeth gritted. He understood every word it said.

_"You cannot help it, Harry...we **do **have similarities...we have both had a part of us destroyed tonight...which we will need to gain...there is nothing you can do about it..."_

"STOP IT!" Harry shouted, falling onto his knees, and shaking his head. His heart ached with fear and anger. "Stop saying that, like it's true..." he squeaked, forlorn and dead.

And then Harry found himself slipping away into darkness, falling either backwards or forwards into terrible pain, from a bridge into a despairing pit. The insane laughing and hissing went with him.

And somewhere while this had been happening, a boy had been tucked up in bed, dreaming of this time in his sleep, and waiting to wake into the real world. This boy was skinny, with brilliant green eyes, baggy nightclothes and messy black hair.

It was Harry.


	2. Dreams & Dark Times

**Disclaimer:** All characters/places etc.recognized in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K Rowling. Only the character Torac Demonio belongs to me, though half of the name rights go to Crystal Charmer.

* * *

**Chapter 2 – Dreams & Dark Times**

"No!"

A bolt cry exploded from Harry's mouth, breaking the pensive silence. He violently turned and tossed in his bed, his eyes pinched together, red and sore. He struggled under the covers, moaning and trying to grab onto something, _anything _to stop him falling into a horrendous darkness. Terrible pictures and voices troubled the corners of his mind.

_No, Mum – Dad! Leave them alone...leave them **alone! **You'll hurt them, you'll **kill **them!_

Harry felt a strange sensation, as if he had just dropped from the sky and landed hard on the ground, a tickling in his stomach – which _always _woke him. His eyes opened suddenly.

It took a while for him to adapt to the situation, as he glanced about with his limbs going numb and his head spinning slowly. The room was beginning to fall into focus...distorted colours appearing and shadows creeping in from corners.

He was awake, back into the real world and rid of nightmares. He felt nauseous, wanting to be sick but not wanting to leave the bedroom. He hit his head against the pillow, and sighed, his body drenched in a cold sweat. _Not again, _he thought, butting his fist against the bed, and forcing down the urge to be ill. _I hate this. It's getting ridiculous...just **ridiculous.**_

Every night had been the same now for a while, ever since the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Nightmare after nightmare – each one more dreadful than the last. Lately he had come to realise that he was forbidden to speak of them from his uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia, ever since he brought up his dream of a giant man, with a bristly dark beard and beetle-black eyes. They would usually go very tight-lipped and strange, telling him not to mention things he didn't understand.

Then there was the flying motorbike, and..._well..._

Harry brushed his hair out of his eyes with a shaky hand, perspiration on his forehead. He could still hear the laughter of Voldemort ringing through his ears, the same laughter that had haunted him in the Triwizard Tournament. Last year had been the hardest yet.

He rubbed his eyes as he sat up, his mother's screams getting fainter and fainter.

_Please – oh, **please **don't hurt him...don't hurt Harry! I – I love him...I **love **him!_

The door opened.

Harry snapped in the direction of it with a gasp, feeling someone's eyes on him. He gulped, squinting into the dark. A tension grew in his veins, stiff and rigid. He was just about to speak, when someone else decided to go first.

"W-what's going on?" The voice sounded sleepy, and shaky as if they were trembling.

Harry recognised it immediately. "Dudley?" he croaked out, relief flooding into the pit of his stomach. There was a soft silence, which was only disturbed by the _click _of the door being shut, and Dudley stepping into the room. This left Harry feeling rather confused.

_What's he coming in for? _he thought, angrily. _What could he **possibly **want in the middle of the night? _Groaning, he fumbled about blindly for his glasses, which lay on his bedside dresser. "What are you _doing?" _he asked, whispering, as he slipped them down over his eyes. His vision became clearer now, but the darkness didn't help much.

Dudley's voice was unusually quiet. "I-I came to see what all the noise was," he said. There was something in the way that he spoke, as if he were smiling.

"What are you on about?" Harry frowned. _Noise? _It had been peaceful all night.

His cousin looked him right in the eye, now suspicious. "The noise – you know, it was really loud. I heard it from my room." He pointed a chubby finger at the door, towards the hallway, where his other room was. "It woke me up," he carried on. "Really loud, it was. Don't tell me you couldn't hear it."

Harry didn't respond. A deep, sick feeling was beginning to come back into his throat. He could imagine already where this was going to lead – it was the horrible sensation that they were talking about _him... _he remembered shouting when he woke up.

He glanced down into his lap and frowned. "Go back to bed, Dudley."

"It was coming from in here, I _know _it was," Dudley continued, mumbling but with a hint of superiority hidden in his voice. It was as if he were only just beginning to understand the meaning behind all of his questions. "There was shouting." He shot a smirk towards Harry.

"I didn't hear anything," Harry shrugged.

"You're lying."

Harry just stared straight ahead into his cousin's eyes, trying not to lose his temper. Ever since the disastrous end to his previous year, and the disturbing ignorance he was getting from Dumbledore this summer, his patience had begun to run short.

Dudley, however, was not ready to give up when he had started to torment. "You're only saying that because...because _you _were the one doing it," he pressed on, his voice dropping to the tone of his newfound 'bully' status. "What were you yelling about anyway?"

If it wasn't so dark, Harry could swear that Dudley was snickering to himself as he waited for a response, shifting from one foot to another. He was no doubt, only staying to make matters worse, and for once Harry couldn't think of _anything _that would make him go away. _He knows I can't use magic against him, _he thought. _Damn._

He rolled his eyes, falling back onto the pillows with a moan. "Go away, Dudley."

"I might know why you were yelling!" Dudley said, a little loud. "I might _know!"_

"How d'you know it's _me? _It could've been _anything!" _Harry argued back, not being able to keep his mouth shut. Heat was growing in his voice and making it swell. "Someone outside...someone on the streets, maybe..."

"You're missing people, you're _miserable! _I hear you all the time, talking and shouting and making noise, having your stupid old nightmares, _crying - "_

"I said, go back to - "

"Oh," Dudley moaned, pretending to bubble and quake at the knees, his chins cramped and bundled at the collar of his pyjamas. His voice went to a strange squeaking sound, as if imitating a frightened child. "Oh, no – _help _me...Mum, Dad...please don't go, please don't _leave _me, help me, someone – I'm _scared..." _

"Shut _up!" _Harry almost screamed, sitting up tight now in bed, eyes ablaze. "Go away!"

The sound of a creak coming from the hallway caught both of their attention. Harry, his ears now keen and listening but burning with a white-hot rage, picked it up and quickly flung himself back down into bed again, knocking a book off. He tried to grab it but missed and it hit the floor with a hard _thud. _

Dudley whimpered from his corner of the room. "Oh, it's _Dad – _this is all _your_ fault!" he quickly said, the tone of his voice changing as he pointed at his cousin. "Just because you're one of those..._freaks _doesn't mean that you're safe this summer! You can't use magic, remember?" The rest came out in a whisper, almost a hiss. "I'll come with all my gang and we're going to _get _you, we'll beat you up – we'll _kill _you..."

And then he was gone. The room fell into silence and Harry just lay there with the covers over his head. He paused; waiting to hear his uncle's booming voice demanding what Dudley was doing out of bed, but nothing came. That thought made Harry snigger a little. _The coward would have probably wet himself, _he thought.

His cousin had taken on a miraculous change over this summer. It seemed as if his school had transformed him into this low-down tyrant who found nothing better than to terrorize people, and Harry was being dragged along in the fire-line. _Especially now I have no defence, _he thought to himself.

He waited until all was quiet, before getting up again. The book that had fallen to the floor was one of his schoolbooks, _Modern Magical History _that he was using to study for his History of Magic assignment over the holiday. Professor Binns, the ghost teacher, had asked for them to look up as much information on a historical figure in the wizarding world, wanting at _least _three feet of parchment on his desk the first week back.

Landing on an open page, Harry pulled it up to his face, his eyes now suited to the dark. He stared in surprise; he had never read this part before. He would have overlooked it; only there was a certain name in the person's description that caught his interest.

_"Voldemort," _Harry whispered, his eyes tracing over the words in front of him.

The passage read:

_**Torac**** D****emonio (1940 - )**_

_A wizard rarely regarded in our society today. Born in London, England, Demonio attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry but mysteriously left after two years to which reason no one knows. Poorly skilled in magic though being the only son of two Pureblood wizards, he left to join companions studying dragon breeding in Europe. His last recorded appearance was in 1962, following a fierce accident in a burning building, notably leaving him brutally scarred for life. It has been rumoured that this attack was meant for a purpose to kill, under the conspiracy and order of Voldemort. However, no deaths occurred._

_Demonio is now in hiding but has been supposed to be seen in Bermuda and other regions of South America. The Ministry of Magic are on for his search, and the result for his capture and arrest has not yet been confirmed. (See also **Dark Lord, **page 77)_

Harry re-read it again before shutting the book. He felt a little confused, but all the same interested. This was new to him, and word of Voldemort was what he had been waiting for all summer. He was almost halfway through the holidays, and _still _nothing.

_At least it's **something, **_he thought bitterly, before tossing the book to the end of his bed and removing his glasses. Then he let himself fall back into the pillows, allowing sleep to take him away into a far-off, distant land.

-xXx-

"Harry! _Harry! _Oh, for goodness _sake!" Clap._

Harry awoke with a jump, his head bouncing up out of his arms. His eyes were drooping, his neck ached in one spot and his head felt drowsy. "W-wha – I mean, who? What's wrong?" he asked, the blurry form of his friend Hermione Granger forming steadily into focus.

A giggle rose from around the room from the few students that were there. Professor Binns slowly turned away from the blackboard and stared tediously in Harry's direction.

"Mr. Potter," he said in his droning voice. _"Must _you choose _now _to take a nap in your History of Magic lesson? I know that research on the Goblin Rebellion can repeat itself sometimes, but - "

Harry shook his head, blocking out the dizzy feeling in his temples. "No, sir, I'm sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "I was only...I mean, I was just - " In his state he cut himself off by nearly knocking his copy of _A History of Magic _to the floor. As he grit his teeth he heard another round of snickering begin.

"Quiet, please." Professor Binns rolled his eyes as he looked in Harry's direction. _"Please _pull yourself together, Mr. Potter. Turn to page two hundred and thirty six, if you haven't already done so – _though I wouldn't hold my breath," _he added, turning around again with a yawn.

Harry sighed and slumped back in his seat. His friend, Ron Weasley, sat beside him with his head cupped in his palm, bored stiff. He shot a glazed stare towards his partner, sighing.

"Makes you wonder why we ever came back," he said gloomily. "I mean, it's only for two weeks but, come on – couldn't we learn something in Defence Against the Dark Arts or something? Instead of being stuck with blooming History of Magic." He cast a low frown to the row beside them, where Hermione sat. "How did you talk us into this, again?"

Hermione sighed, turning her attention to her work. "I told you before the summer," she said. "Since Professor Moody left, there's been a rumour that Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons aren't going to go so well next year. Lots of the teachers have been worrying about it – and to tell you the truth, we all should be too." She tried to avoid Harry's eyes as she spoke.

He knew _why._ Now that Voldemort had been sighted, Dark Arts lessons were becoming increasingly important for the students. Parents had complained to Dumbledore, afraid for their children's sake. Finally the Headmaster had decided to do something about it.

He had offered students to come back to Hogwarts for another two weeks, under their own choosing. More of a summer school, as the weeks went into the holidays. They were offered a quick insight into the lessons for next year, making sure they were prepared. Harry was only glad to go back.

Now he leant forward on his elbows, trying to ignore the bickering on each side of him. Sitting in between Ron and Hermione was a task all on it's own.

"That's all well and good, Hermione," said Ron. "But have you seen what _else _they've put on our timetables? I mean, Herbology...I suppose I could see that working – but _Potions?" _He scoffed; the idea of extra time with the Potions Master was unthinkable. "Bet Snape's _loving _all of this. Why do they constantly choose to torture us?"

"Well, _I _think it's a great idea," Hermione said defensively, as the bell suddenly rang. She gathered up her books from her desk as Professor Binns reminded them:

"Now don't forget to hand in your assignments on the way out please. _No hurry..."_

Hermione at once fished into her schoolbag for her parchment, neatly inscribed with her name. She turned about to discuss the subject of her chosen person. "So, do you want to ask me who I based my facts on?" she pressed eagerly, seeing their aghast expressions.

Harry held up his hands. "As long as it's not Professor Lockhart," he said, smirking at the tinted blush forming on Hermione's cheeks. Ron coughed, hiding a laugh.

"No," she mumbled, frowning a little. "I don't see why it's so funny. If you really want to know, mine is about - "

"Sorry, Hermione, but lunch calls," Ron interrupted briskly, making his way past. Harry could only offer his other friend a feeble shrug as she marched off after him, fuming.

-xXx-

The Great Hall didn't seem so full, according to Harry. Only a few handfuls of students from each house were present, making the ambience of the room much quieter than usual. He tucked himself into his lunch, listening to the chatter going on either side of him, feeling that he had never left for the holidays at all.

"Urgh, I hate it when it's like this," said Ginny Weasley, glancing at two Ravenclaw girls sitting behind her, whispering. "Everyone's so nervous."

Harry could see from where he was sitting that she was right. A group of students sat in a corner, were using their lunchtime to practise a spell they had just learnt. One kept constantly looking over his shoulder.

All of the tension made Harry shudder, and he tried not to look anyone in the eye if he could help it. He also couldn't shake away the feeling that everyone was watching _him. _He raised his voice to Ron, mainly trying to distract himself.

"Ron, I don't think he's here today, either," he laughed, as Ron was busily craning his head around the room. For these few days he had been praying for Draco Malfoy not to show, much to the annoyance of others.

Harry however, was rather surprised. Malfoy was one of the first people he had expected to see back, especially after the whole ordeal with his father last year. _But...maybe that's the reason for his absence too, _he thought, his memory returning to that night in the cemetery. Perhaps the Malfoys were trying to avoid attention in a way. After all, Harry knew Lucius' little secret, even if no one chose to believe it.

"You know, I'm beginning to think he's not going to show up at all," Ron smiled, turning around again and plunging his fork into his mashed potatoes. "Best part, that is. Pure _bliss." _

Everyone laughed as gravy trickled down the side of his mouth. As he wiped it away, his ears turning pink, a loud crash sounded from the other end of the hall. The students attempting their spell just caused someone's soup bowl to levitate before smashing it against the floor. An instant uproar began.

"What charm are they planning to use?" Ginny giggled. "I don't exactly see _Wingardium Leviosa _defeating the Dark Lord, if you ask me."

"Oh, it's the new thing now," joked Katie Bell. "Haven't you heard?"

And that sent the whole table into fits of laughter again.

Harry couldn't even remember the last time he felt this happy. And thinking that, made it all the more frightening. It felt _wrong, _in a way. He was supposed to be coming back and learning new, advanced spells that would help him against Voldemort and his power...things should be feeling bleaker. He even considered himself feeling just as anxious as the Hufflepuff boy spawning through his books on the table in front.

He cast a fleeting glimpse to his left, where Hermione sat, a pensive look in her eyes. She glanced up, and saw him, and they exchanged glances.

And it was when they got up and left for the next class, that he realised he wasn't the only one feeling afraid.


	3. McGonagall's Warning

**Disclaimer:** All characters/places etc. recognized in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K Rowling.

* * *

**Chapter 3 – McGonagall's Warning**

By the next lesson, which turned out to be Transfiguration, Ron was still complaining about the unfairness of his timetable to the others, who by now were so sick of his whining all they wanted was to press his nose into the nearest wall, just to shut him up.

"Oh _please, _Ron!" Hermione would exasperate, every time it looked as though he were opening his mouth to make another disagreeable statement. "If you were going to be such a nuisance and moan about everything, I really don't see the point in you wanting to _be _here! You've returned to Hogwarts to learn new, important spells, not to gripe more than you do already!"

Ron frowned indignantly. "Stop badgering me, Hermione! You think I don't know that? Quit breathing down my neck once in a while – I was _yawning_!"

"Well, for all _we _knew, you were going to unleash another groaning rant!" Hermione quickly defended herself.

"I was _not – _shows how much _you _know!" Ron bit back, the argument continuing to grow more childish as their stress levels gradually ran higher.

Transfiguration was an interesting lesson to Ron, although his best efforts were not as successful as that of the studious Hermione. His disappointment often made her feel sorry for him, and although she sometimes asked him kindly if he required any assistance, depending on his mood, Ron would either grudgingly accept, or proudly state that he didn't need her help.

_They'll be best friends again by this afternoon, _Harry thought with a smile, as he stepped into the classroom after them. _They can't stay mad at each other for too long, _He had begun to grow used to being stuck in the middle of their petty 'discussions' by now, although Ron and Hermione rarely noticed that he even did so.

"Ow!" he whispered, feeling someone jolt their foot into the back of his leg, sharply. It caused his knee to give way forward, and in doing so, made him drop his books for the rest of his lessons.

"Sorry," a Hufflepuff girl apologised meekly, being the one to cause the accident. They were taking the period with one another – the two houses Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Harry was only thankful it wasn't a Slytherin that had knocked into him, although...as he thought about it, then quite possibly it would have occurred on purpose.

"It's all right," he replied, quickly scooping up his books in the dark. The girl seemed to have quickly disappeared, however, and Harry was talking to himself. He rolled his eyes, picked up his feet and hurried after the others.

Everyone was only just taking their seats when he appeared at the door, so he quickly snatched a place next to Ron and dropped his books on the side of the desk with a _thump. _

Ron jumped a little at the noise. "Thought you were never coming in," he grinned cheekily, watching as his friend scooted past his shoulder.

Harry sighed and slouched back into the chair, his head feeling strangely dizzy for some peculiar reason.

"Never mind about _that_," he mumbled back, trying to locate his Transfiguration book amongst the slumping pile of reading material. He tried to shoot a glance at the girl from the hallway but she was already involved in a conversation with the student next to her, giggling with her blonde hair around one of her fingers.

_What is it about girls, anyway? _he thought, with bitterness. _Always so complicated..._

Tutting, he looked away with a shake of his head and paid attention to Professor McGonagall, who had just entered the room at that minute. Everyone fell silent at her presence; her hands were tightly clasped in front of her chest and her lips were pursed into a small, thin line.

"Good afternoon, class," she said, looking over at everyone through her small spectacles. There was something about her voice that made people sit up straight and take notice. Something not as considerate as usual, and Harry could take a decent guess at what it was.

He stared across from his desk and saw Hermione squirming uncomfortably in her seat. It was one of the qualities that in his opinion, was rather ingenious about her – the way that she could see at once how the teachers wanted no funny business when they approached the students. He blinked and listened closely to the sound of Professor McGonagall's voice.

"Well, I am wholly delighted to see so many of you all here, ready to learn," she smiled, her eyes scanning the room, but finding no smiles in return. Only serious expressions were stating their willpower to do as much as they could to make a difference, and that filled Professor McGonagall with a somewhat greater pride. She cleared her throat and went on.

"You all know why you are here, and you all know that this choice is optional for you. However, in making this decision you must understand that some level of this magic may not be to your current standard. You may be encountered with some difficulty often found within...hmm, perhaps even your fifth year at Hogwarts. So if any enquires are needed, have no fear to locate help."

Harry felt Ron groan beside him and collapse into his hands, the ends of his fingers brushing against the fine strands of his hair. Hermione, on the other hand, was leaning forward eagerly onto her desk, resting on her arms as though to prove to Professor McGonagall (and perhaps even the rest of the class) that no challenge was too big for her.

As for the other students, an instant sense of complicated murmuring and questionable glances spread among them. Many had not been prepared for an upgrade on their spell casting abilities, and suddenly the whole prospect of being confident in battle quickly deteriorated in a few people, Neville Longbottom especially, broke out into a mild sweat, and through a short-lived panic attack, fleetingly wondered if he should ask to be excused from the room. Lavender Brown began to subtly pass notes to her friend Parvati Patil, a worried frown on her brow.

"Now, now students, silence please," Professor McGonagall stated, in her sensible tone, unclasping her hands and holding them up for quiet. When a good majority had settled down a little, a dry smile was presented to show stability.

_How does she **do** that? _Harry wondered, his own eyes taking in the actions of every pupil in the classroom. _How does she get everyone to be so calm when they're all so worried? _

Professor McGonagall, after all, was the first teacher so far to mention the extensive amount of extra practice and effort they may have to be faced with, in order to be astute and reliable with their spells.

"I can tell by the looks on your faces that you have not received that news to the best attitude," said Professor McGonagall, with kindly comfort. "But not to worry, you will not be expected to become the next Albus Dumbledore by the time these few weeks are gone. As long as you feel a greater sense of initiative towards your return home, I guarantee you all successful in the near future."

Ron made another obvious groan in his seat, his foot constantly tapping the floor. Harry was unsure if he was out to get his attention, or whether he just expressed his concerns all too clearly, but he felt himself leaning over towards him. His eyes kept a close watch on the teacher as he did so.

"What's up?" he whispered.

"Oh, nothing," Ron said back, in quiet tones. "Just that I'm..."

The rest was said in inaudible response. Even with his ears strained Harry found it difficult to make out what was said.

"You're what?"

"No good, I'm no good," Ron snapped through gritted teeth.

_Is that all that's bothering him? _Harry thought, with some amusement. It was no secret that every year Ron had little faith in his qualities; it seemed no surprise to anyone when he wallowed in his self-conscious attitude when things didn't turn out the way he wished. He just didn't believe in his stronger side, that was all.

Harry let out a cough of a laugh. "Shut up, you'll be all right."

"Fifth year, she said, Harry! _Fifth year_! I could barely get through fourth!" Ron's fingers tightened in his hair, a sick, small feeling in his stomach. A cold dread...he hated thinking forward and predicting disaster like this. He was bound to fail attempts before he was ready...he wasn't _like _Hermione...

Harry knew that he was joking a little. _But it's not a joking matter, really, _he told himself, knowing how prudent he sounded. _It's just..._

"Don't worry about it," said Harry, trying to sound supportive. "McGonagall just said that you - "

Ron just let out another sigh. "Should've known we shouldn't have come back," he said with a half-hearted smile, "What with all this - "

"Hey, I just said that McGonagall - "

"Mr. Potter," snapped the sturdy voice of Professor McGonagall, causing Harry to turn his head away from Ron and pay attention to the teacher addressing him, her arms folded stiffly across her chest and a tension in her jaw line.

_Damn, _Harry cursed in his head, flopping back into a straight position again. _Trust me to get into trouble...I must have raised my voice too far or something..._

"Sorry, Professor," he mumbled out, his voice quieter now.

Professor McGonagall let out a low sigh, a tiny shake of the head demonstrating her disappointment.

"Honestly, Mr. Potter, I expected you of all people to at least pay attention to this teaching method, considering the situation," she said, obviously referring to Lord Voldemort's return. "But it seems that you would rather converse with Mr. Weasley than actually _listen..._"

Harry slouched back into his seat again, his face growing very warm.

"Now as a result, I would have reluctantly taken five points from Gryffindor for this, but because we are not bothering with them for this short amount of time, you can count yourself lucky. Please open your ears from now on." She turned back to a Hufflepuff in the front row with his hand up high in the air.

Harry could see Ron's attempts of trying to apologise by leaning forward onto his desk, his eyes trying to connect with his own. Instead of looking, Harry quickly waved with his hand as if to say: "Forget it," and paid his attention back to his book. He was already frustrated with himself.

"Very good, Miss Granger," he heard Professor McGonagall congratulate Hermione, on the word-perfect answer dealing with the quickest way to interchange your transformation, if you decided to change your mind.

_Well, at least Hermione will put her in a better mood, _he thought resentfully, pulling a face and resting his elbows onto the table. Somehow the first day seemed to be dragging on and on for him. He could still hear Professor McGonagall's voice breaking through his own thoughts.

"Right class, if you would just pay attention to this weather-vane..."

-xXx-

Harry was not in the best of moods when he left the lesson. He seemed rather downtrodden and sore, only offering mumbled responses to his friend's questions. Although he was sometimes scolded in class, it rarely happened to be McGonagall that gave him the harsh word, and he was feeling a pain in his chest at her words.

"_Considering the situation..." _

Those especially stung. She was almost suggesting that he wasn't thinking enough about Voldemort! Like he wasn't even bothered about him coming back to life...Cedric Diggory's death...the constant, realistic nightmares...

_Like the one I had before Hogwarts, about Voldemort killing my parents, _he remembered, thinking hard. _I was there...somehow, I was there with them...watching him take their lives. Then I woke up, in bed...and then..._

_And then..._

Harry desperately racked his brains, a funny cold feeling spreading through his veins. He couldn't remember _anything _that had happened after he had been having the argument with Dudley in his room. Somehow it all felt blurry, like...a distilled vision, or trying to look into a puddle of water during torrential rain. Messy and...confusing. _How had he arrived at Hogwarts? _

"Hey, Harry! Wait up!"

Ron and Hermione found it difficult to keep up with him as he stormed his way down the corridor, obviously not wanting to talk, but to think alone instead. Ron finally reached his side, concern filling his face.

"Look, I'm sorry I got you into trouble..." he started uneasily.

"It's O.K," said Harry, shrugging it off.

"I tried to say so in class, but McGonagall had her eagle-eye out and everything, and when I tried to get your attention you wouldn't look over at me - "

"I said it's O.K," Harry interrupted stiffly, leaning his head back against the wall and waiting for Hermione to catch up with them. He had let it pass in the lesson, hadn't he? When he had waved his hand? Obviously Ron had not received the message properly. He felt too shameful inside to complain about it though.

Hermione fumbled about in the dark passageway, her hand colliding with Ron's shoulder as she eventually found them.

"I thought you would have headed back to the common room already without me," she joked, smiling at them in a rather pleasant way. "Usually when we have a free period you can't wait to get back and relax – are you all right, Harry?" She had at that moment spotted Harry, a strange and puzzled frown on his face.

_How did I get here? _The same question buzzed in and out of Harry's ears. Waking up in his first class, safely at school...two weeks into the holidays...but no recollection of receiving a letter, or meeting with the others before going back, _or _telling his aunt and uncle that he would be returning for a while...

He couldn't remember _any _of it.

"What?" he asked Hermione, half-listening.

"I said, are you all right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," said Harry quickly, tearing himself away from the wall and ruffling the back of his hair, giving her a cheap smile to show that he wasn't _too _troubled about everything. "I just have a strange feeling that the teachers have it in for me, or something."

"How d'you mean?" Ron asked curiously, a tone of humour in his voice.

"Well, first Professor Binns tells me off for sleeping in class, and now McGonagall," Harry explained, avoiding the serious look on Hermione's face as he spoke. He could almost predict her complaints of saying that they were all due to his own fault, and just as she were about to open her mouth, he said:

"Don't bother, Hermione. I know you're going to say that I walked into both lectures myself, so there's no point."

Hermione, pausing on a breath, made a little pout at Harry's statement and huffed in indignation.

"All I was saying," she began, "Is that if you were paying close attention to both professors when they were giving you the lesson, you _might _not be as miserable as you are now. I, myself, can't imagine why you fell asleep during History of Magic! I happen to find the Goblin Rebellion rather fascinating at times!"

"Oh, yeah, me too!" Ron said with repeated enthusiasm, but not without adding a sceptical "Not!" afterwards. It was clear that he was mocking her once again, Hermione making sure to provide him with one of her dirtiest glares.

Harry was just deciding that it was best to take off to the common room after all; they had wasted almost ten minutes standing there in the corridor, and Professor McGonagall was beginning to stare after them with a perplexed look. To avoid attention, he ripped his gaze away from the door and turned.

"Hey - " he cried out, stopping short as he felt his foot collide with something.

"What is it?" Ron asked, watching Harry bend down and lift the object up.

Harry turned it over in his hands carefully, squinting closely in the darkness of the hallway. Another thing that seemed different to him..._when had the Transfiguration corridor been covered in darkness? _Perhaps it was a light that had gone out, or something...

"It's...a book," he finally said. "_Modern Magical History_ – look, it's mine...it has my name inside. I must have left it behind when that Hufflepuff girl knocked into me before the lesson started." He flicked through the book casually, before placing it quickly back into his bag. "I thought I'd picked them all up," he added.

"If it had been your Transfiguration spell book you would have landed yourself in more trouble, if not embarrassment," Hermione kindly pointed out.

"Thanks for telling me that," Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

It wasn't long before Ron was guiding them, almost _eagerly_ in the direction of the Gryffindor common room, counting off on his fingers the number of things he was planning to do in his free lesson time. Hermione insisted that he should look up some new spell techniques to impress the teachers, and to prove how serious he was about returning.

"Actually," Ron said, "I was thinking about taking a _nap _- "

Hermione seemed to recoil at the word, staring at Ron in disbelief. Her expression was so priceless that Harry had to force himself not to laugh out loud.

They began to take the staircase up to the seventh floor, taking a little longer than usual because of Ron and Hermione's bickering; they kept missing the drop-offs when the stairs changed routes. Harry spent these opportune moments to momentarily glance at his timetable...just Charms and then another free period before bed...Harry couldn't help smiling to himself inside.

Even though, to his worse frustration, _what had he taken before History of Magic that morning? _He couldn't remember any introduction or welcome from Dumbledore, not even the journey that had brought him here. That annoyed him the most, seeing as how he never forgot those.

"You have all the time to sleep at _night,_" said Hermione, with a defensive sturdiness about her, and facing the portrait of the Fat Lady, exclaimed the password: "Artichoke."

"Of course, dear!" the Fat Lady said happily, swinging aside to let them in.

Harry followed in last, his fingertips upon his temple, struggling to create an image of the King's Cross Station in his head. Why...why wasn't it there?

_Am I losing my mind? _he wondered incredulously to himself. _Or am I struck with some sort of... _he knew it was crazy, but... _amnesia? _He couldn't think of anything that would actually _deliver _that, as he thought over it.

He really hated to admit it to himself, but this confusion was beginning to frighten him a little. It was a horrible feeling, he knew, as he took an armchair by the fire, listening mindlessly to Ron and Hermione's chatter as he stared into the flames.

A few good minutes passed with him just in deep thought, quiet and concentrated.

_This is crazy. _

He barely moved a muscle. It took Ron to poke his shoulder a few times until he came to his senses and looked up. There they both were, frowning in worry at him as if his behaviour was oddly uncomfortable for them. Harry blinked, suddenly realising that he hadn't for a while. His eyes itched and he rubbed them from under his glasses.

"Is anything the matter, Harry?" Hermione's voice asked.

"Well..." Harry began, rubbing at the sore spot on his arm where Ron had poked it; ready to tell all about how he _really _felt, but at the last minute, thought it best not to. Why worry his friends with another one of his stupid, _stupid _problems? They would probably laugh too, or tell him he was barking. He sighed and shook his head.

"No, nothing," he said, resting an elbow onto the arm of the chair. He continued to watch the flames in the hearth, dancing and leaping about like pixies in a ringle, curling and twisting like vines around a torn oak branch. It was a beautiful thing, fire.

Well, Harry thought so, anyway.


	4. A Familiar Face

**Disclaimer: **All characters/places etc.mentioned in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K. Rowling. Artie, the Hufflepuff portrait is mine.

* * *

**Chapter 4 – A Familiar Face**

Harry took his worries to bed with him that night, and they soon vanished slowly into his dreams like ink on blotted paper. His frets on his suspicious amnesia had lost their importance by the time he had awoken for breakfast, and he had even tried to banish the stirring root of questions into a blank nothingness.

Although it was confusing and, Harry had to admit - a little disturbing, he told himself not to make it his first priority right now, not when there were defences to be learnt with the events happening in the wizarding world. Voldemort's return was a great deal more crucial at the moment than a solution to his brain lapses, anyway.

_I'm here at least, _he kept telling himself. _I suppose I should be thankful for that. _

There was more commotion bustling around Hogwarts, too. Rumours were flying in everyday about late student arrivals that at the last minute, had changed their minds about staying behind at home. Apparently, the updates appearing in _The Daily Prophet _had sparked the nerves of anxious parents, who had undoubtedly sent in many letters to Dumbledore, requiring if their children make a quick return. The idea of their families not being well-prepared perhaps frightened them terribly.

The Gryffindor table glanced up with the others as the doors of the Great Hall swung open, letting in a Slytherin third year, stepping beside a couple of fifth year Ravenclaws. Professor Flitwick followed afterwards, looking unusually twitchy as he headed towards his seat.

Dean Thomas turned back to his pancakes, resting his elbows upon the table in an uninterested fashion.

"New arrivals," he commented, with his mouth full. "That's five now in two days."

"The numbers keep growing," added Ginny, glancing down the table. "Everyone's beginning to panic, Harry."

For that instant, Harry was unsure why she directed her statement at him. His name caught his attention and he looked back into her eyes, as if to question her selection of words.

Did he look as though he were panicking himself? He hoped not...hundreds and hundreds of reporters' gossip and rumours weighed down his shoulders, concerning with what happened a few weeks back.

The last thing he wanted were his friends (especially his friends) believing he had something secretive to hide from them. He hated holding the details out of their reach...but what good would it do for them?

_Knowing how my luck is turning out, it would probably just make the fear worse for them, _he said to himself.

He nodded slowly at Ginny, absent-mindedly, and lowered his head back to his plate, prodding his fork into his food with no thought towards actually eating it. The shiftiness of the others rather bothered him this morning, although he could not for the life of him understand why. Every time they mentioned Dumbledore's name, or newspapers, or even worse - the first years were having to whisper in private corners, and somehow catching his name being dropped...

He balanced his head onto his open palm, twirling the end of the fork with his fingertips. Somehow he felt like an outcast from the rest when he sat with them like this - as though they were on pin needles waiting for him to mention something about that dreadful night. He could never find a sensible conversation to have with ease anymore. Everything felt strained - tense.

"Hey," Neville whispered in an undertone, "You don't think that awful Millicent Bulstrode will be sent back too, do you?"

Millicent Bulstrode was a Slytherin girl in their year, bulky and with a sturdiness to challenge Hagrid, the Hogwarts gamekeeper and teacher of Care of Magical Creatures. She was a particularly silent girl, in fact, Harry could never remember hearing her speak. She often towered over those students that were even in years above her - Hermione's memories of her were never pleasant to think on.

Everyone collapsed into a fit of giggles at Neville's shaky voice.

"Just look towards the sounds of grunting and heavy footsteps, and you'll find her - the big gorilla!" Ron chortled.

"Or we could always inspect one another for cat tails!" someone chimed in down the other end of the table.

At this outcry, Hermione turned a shade of crimson and fixated her eyes on the Hogwarts banner on the opposite side of the room, while tunes of laughter rang and screamed all around her. There was a slight pout of indignation on her face - clear evidence that snatching one of Millicent's cat hairs for the Polyjuice Potion in her second year had not been one of her best impulses. It had taken Madam Pomfrey, the school nurse, weeks to try and shrink the whiskers back into her cheeks. Now those cheeks were alight with flame.

"Oh, you can all just stop," she grumbled under her breath, shooting the students in the far corner a dirty look, as though they were criminals tied in a devilish crime. Harry could almost feel the heat escaping from her in embarrassment, especially when a choir of mewing sounded off.

_I know they're only joking with her, _Harry thought, biting his lip as he concentrated on something else, _but why do I feel ashamed **for **her? Lately, everything has seemed to be getting under my skin a little. Whether it's the teachers in class...or mindless chatter...why aren't they thinking about...?_

An almost better description for these feelings would be that his emotions felt more alive...he was far cautious towards his anger now, which was beginning to confuse him sometimes. Often he became enraged at the smallest things - it was really quite aggravating.

He glanced down at his plate and noticed that his sausages had transformed into a mountain of pulpy mush, and with a degraded sigh, pushed them away from him with a finger.

The continuous bubble of laughter continued to surround him. Harry sat there, feeling empty. He was not feeling an appetiser towards anything laid out on the centre platforms, and the actions of people around him suddenly felt as though a button had been pressed, speeding them up from their normal walking rate. Everything sounded so much _louder _too..._so loud..._

_The perfect symptoms for me to be ill, _he thought, with a touch of sarcasm.

"Hey, Harry! Want some scrambled egg?" Ron questioned, tearing through his downtrodden thoughts, and leaning over with the spoon in the bowl.

Harry shot a look at it, and whatever was left of his stomach dropped through his chair. One of his favourite breakfast courses had suddenly gained a distinct similarity to vomit. He lurched back an expression of disgust and moved away from the table, clutching tightly onto the strap of his book bag.

"No, thanks - that's all right," he said, stuttering a little. He backed off from the rest of them and gathered up his things, watching the surprised looks on their faces at his departure.

"Mate, what's up?" Ron asked in disbelief, staring as Harry fumbled about with the contents of his bag, apologising quickly to Neville as he had picked up his Herbology spell book by mistake.

Sighing, he shrugged off Ron's question as though it were a fly buzzing past his ear. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing's the matter, don't worry. I'm just not very hungry, that's all. I'll be in the common room if you need me."

He could feel the eyes on him the moment he left the table to the moment he eventually reached the door. Big boring eyes like knives driving their way into his spine, and sitting there...waiting to see if he turned. It was as though everyone suspected his hidden doubts towards these lessons, and why wouldn't they? They were just the same things that they were _all _considering. The same deep, black thoughts. Thoughts about these extra lessons being a complete waste of time...

What were they supposed to learn that would help them survive? His year was below legal age...

_Not a great deal powerful there, then, _he thought glumly, hearing Ginny's cry of, "Harry!" as the entrance door thudded shut with an empty vibration.

_Go away, go away, _he thought, not caring who it was aimed at. _Just go away._

_Leave me alone._

-xXx-

He had to make a bathroom stop on the way back, because of the way his stomach felt – as though he was going to lose his entrails. It was rather annoying, as he wasn't even sure _why _he had wanted to be sick. Perhaps those scrambled eggs had been too much for him to take...

He half-stumbled, half-marched his way back to the common room, the Fat Lady looking concerned, as she stared down through a pair of very outrageous glasses she had found in the portrait to her left.

"Feeling unwell, dear?" she asked.

Harry shot her a steely glare and said nothing – nothing that is, except the password.

"Artichoke," he mumbled out roughly.

"He did, once," came the Fat Lady's reply, referring to the lowly looking wizard in the painting down the Hufflepuff corridor. He appeared constantly in several portraits, known for his puffy cheeks and whooping cough.

_Oh, ha-ha...very funny. _

Harry stepped through the portrait hole without saying another word, made his way to the boy's dormitory and flopped down onto his bed, his feet crossed tightly and his eyes staring mindlessly at the ceiling. The curtain around his four-poster was still slightly pulled around the corners from that morning. Everything was so quiet. Nobody remained in the study corner downstairs, save for a couple of sixth years.

Now that he was alone, he had enough time to think things through. His behaviour down in the Great Hall had been a little bit embarrassing – what had he been thinking, taking off like that? Everyone was bound to think it was something incredibly serious...honestly! It annoyed him when people delivered him attention but all the while he somehow managed to create it himself...

He turned over savagely, his previous position becoming uncomfortable. He couldn't stay in bed for long...his first class would begin soon and he didn't really have anything worthy of an excuse.

Perhaps he would go back later, there could still be some time to grab some of that bacon...oh, why had he left without eating anything?

He sat up, and dawdled about a bit in the room, trying to buy time so that he at least would not look like a complete fool when he _did _decide to return. He checked the time, a habit that seemed to go by slowly while he waited...a quarter to nine, it read.

_Hmm...not long now before lessons take place, _he thought, with a little glumness. He could have done with a good half an hour to settle his thoughts and clear his frustration a little bit. He was secretly thankful that he hadn't said anything too offensive at the meal table...that was the last thing he needed – people giving him a wide berth.

He decided to go back around ten minutes later.

No chance of devouring an English breakfast.

-xXx-

"You've changed your tune," the Fat Lady muttered irritably, as Harry left the exit of the common room, the portrait slamming shut behind him with a low creak. He didn't know what else to say – now that he had cooled his temper down a little he couldn't even remember half of the things he had mentioned earlier.

"Oh," he uttered uncomfortably. "Right. Sorry."

He did do some ridiculous things. _Impulsive, _ridiculous thoughts that flew in and out of his brain whenever they felt like it.

Impulsive, ridiculous thoughts that made him look like a complete idiot.

"Harry!"

He turned his attention to the corridor ahead of him, where Hermione was hurrying as fast as she could to catch up, her bag swinging wildly around her shoulder (quite often banging into her hip – painfully too, according to the number of books she carried), and her face concerned. He faced her, hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"Where have you _been_?" she panted out, somewhat breathless. "Don't you know it's only five more minutes until Charms class begins?"

Harry rolled his eyes a little, trying not to see the amusing side of her talk. _Typical Hermione. She would have to mention lessons within her first frantic sentence or other. I wonder why everyone sent **her** to examine what I was up to. Perhaps they all trusted me to get to the subject on time, whereas Hermione must have had her doubts._

"Yes, I noticed," he said, smiling. "I was just on my way, actually."

She released a sigh, similar to that of relief. Her arms clutching around one lone book instantly relaxed and quite practically nearly dropped it to the floor. "Well, I'm glad to hear it!" she answered, an approving expression lighting up on her face at his words. "For a moment, there...I thought - "

"I can guess," he replied quickly, cutting her off. Not wanting to consider whether that look in her eyes was one of hurt or humour, he shook his head clear of opinions and gestured to the corridor. "Come on, let's walk and talk."

Hermione didn't seem to want to mention the uncomfortable way that Harry had left earlier, although he could see that she was bursting to. He thought it may have been because of his previous comment...he hadn't really meant for it to sound as though he was biting her head off, but she was doing exactly what he predicted her to do.

He found she wanted to walk at a speedy pace, making it difficult for him to actually say a few words to her. He knew they wouldn't be late...Charms was on the second floor, they were on their way to the Grand Staircase anyway...

"Hermione, slow down – we're not going to be late." He attempted to speak.

"You don't know that Harry, you don't know," she responded, a twinge of anxiety hidden in her throat. She clutched her book to her chest with one arm as her second reached out and pried open the huge door leading to the stairs. They were on the seventh floor...on the utmost level. Harry hoped that the movement of the staircases would be kind to them today. They really couldn't afford to miss any of Professor Flitwick's extra lessons. The additional spells could really pay off for the future...

It was amazing that Hermione's feet didn't trip over one another on the way down, they were moving so quick and so lightly that Harry swore she would eventually miss one and go tumbling down. Every so often he would reach out to grab her...but she was deft and never slipped. It seemed she was trying to outrun the stairs before they carried her away to the opposite wall.

"Harry," she began as she reached the sixth floor, "Why _did _you leave the Great Hall? You were...a little unsettled. Did anyone say anything?"

Harry sighed heavily. He _knew _she couldn't hold it back for much longer. Right from the start there had been something unnerving about her, as though she was resisting an itch to scratch.

"No," he said quickly. "I..., err, just felt a bit sick. I went upstairs to clear my head a bit. It was nothing personal, Hermione." Most of what he spoke was the truth. He had been reasonably close to throwing up what was left in his stomach at his bathroom break, which counted for the sudden queasiness. But the rest...

"Everyone else wanted to go after you," Hermione added. "But Ron insisted "no." He said that you needed some time to cool down, or something."

_Good old Ron, _Harry thought to himself, dismissing any sarcasm. He _meant _it.

He followed her lead downwards a couple more staircases. They were on the fourth floor now. He noticed that she was double checking her belongings...if she had brought the books for the lesson. He supposed she had – she would have done so last night, when she had checked her timetable.

One step ahead, all the way.

"I didn't really get much time to do _anything, _really," Harry admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"I wanted to sleep, first. I don't know why. There was never going to be enough chance though for that. I suppose I slept pretty rough last night, I can't remember." This was not a lie. Harry usually could tell whether his rest was either easy or unpleasant – but not last night. It was as though it had never existed to him. A blank memory on another blotted page, this time without ink as a starting point.

He continued, "Then I thought about going back, but I'd left with little time management, hadn't I? So I was on my way to the lesson when you showed up, obviously worried I wasn't going to make it." He grinned at her, amused. "Did you? Is that what you thought?"

"Oh, well...I suppose a _part _of me suspected it," she mumbled out in a meek voice, stepping down onto the third floor just in time. "But, it was because of something else really...I came to ask if you already knew, but you can't know – you don't seem any different than you did yesterday, and that's why I wanted to see you, if someone else had already come along and you'd overheard - "

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted, his mind already spinning. He struggled to reach her level now, as her voice had gone very quiet. "What are you talking about?"

Hermione bit her lip again – Harry could have _sworn _she'd done that too often on their way down to Charms. "It's nothing."

"Overheard _what? _It must be important, otherwise you wouldn't have come down - " He tried to make painfully accurate eye contact with her. "Hermione!"

This was insane. _What is she hiding from me? _

Her feet touched the second floor, at last. Tossing her bushy brown hair behind her head, she reached up once again for the door handle, ignoring Harry's pestering shadow lingering over her from behind. "Just leave it, Harry...I'll let you hear about it later. Come on, we can't be too late...we might just have made it on time."

She pried the door open, letting him march annoyingly behind her, his moan of aggravation following her into class.

She hadn't thought things through enough, because of the hurrying and the panic of missing the lesson – she had forgotten about the house that Gryffindor was working with today...how could she have not reminded herself?

_I suppose he'll find out **during **the lesson then, not afterwards, _she told herself, with another perturbed expression as she stared around the class, feeling as though she could kick herself for not providing more details.

"See! There he is! Look, Professor! I knew he'd show up _sooner _or later!"

The voice rose up to Harry as though it were a cold sweat crashing on his body, as a tidal wave to a beach. His head snapped in the direction of its location, a confused and squinted frown instantly placed onto his brow. He swallowed, and although he never said it above a whisper, it sounded as bellowing as an air siren in his head.

"Malfoy?"


	5. Harry's Discovery

**Disclaimer: **All characters mentioned in the Harry Potter books are under copyright of J.K. Rowling. Gertie Keddle and Count Vlad Drakul were taken from the Harry Potter Comic Relief books and Playstation games.

* * *

**Chapter 5 – Harry's Discovery**

Harry stared at Malfoy's cold sneer, smiling back at him. _Malfoy? It...he..._ His thoughts swam in a pool of disbelief. _Malfoy..._

"Mr. Potter, kindly take your seat, please," Professor Flitwick instructed in his squeaky voice, climbing back on top of his pedestal of books. His small height made it rather difficult to address the class without them.

It was Hermione's gentle tug on his arm that made Harry blink, snapping himself back into reality. "Come on," she softly whispered, tearing his gaze away from the grey eyes and quickly guiding him towards his seat, where he sat down, dumbfounded and still.

_This is what Hermione was trying to tell me..._

He cast another look at Malfoy across the rows. The boy offered a small nod of the head in his direction, as if to say: "Hello again," but not in the way Harry liked. He turned away and focused on retrieving his Charms book from his schoolbag.

"Malfoy's back?" he shot a whisper across to Hermione. "But he - "

"Shh, Harry...we'll talk later," she said quickly, darting her eyes as a warning towards Flitwick, who was surveying them suspiciously. She was right...Harry couldn't afford any more of the teachers telling him to hold his tongue in class. They already were beginning to doubt how serious he was about this war.

Finding it an incredible urge to direct a message back across to the Slytherin row of students, he pressed his nose into his spell book and forced himself to read the passage there. From the corner of his eye he could see Ron, just as distraught and flabbergasted as he was.

The lesson was basically a reminder to all of the spells they had previously learnt in the last year. Flitwick's strategy was therefore different to McGonagall's. He preferred to "refresh the pupil's mind" before advancing to new outlooks. It should have been easy for Harry, if his mind didn't keep wandering...

Twice he had failed to achieve a perfect Summoning charm due to lack of concentration. Even though it was a little out of her way, Hermione quickly dove in to help him during Flitwick's inspections. Harry didn't even notice.

"Harry, please," she tried to reason with him. "I can't keep helping you...you _know _all this, we only went through it a few months back." Her voice was serious.

Harry ran a hand through his hair, letting his breath out in some frustration. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Just ignore him. Don't look at him...try and take your mind off - "

"I can't."

His last words were so harsh they were final. The lesson seemed to drag on and on...until it felt (especially to Harry and Ron,) that they had been there all day. Words passed through thin air...they were all but nonsense to Harry's ears. When he finally heard the bell ring, he almost couldn't believe it.

"Harry..." Hermione began, wondering for a moment that he was going to do something ridiculous – however, she had never seen him move so quickly in the opposite direction. Gathering his books, he walked fast towards the door without looking back, Ron and Hermione in pursuit.

"Wait, Harry!" Ron called out, catching up. His voice echoed around the corridor.

Harry knew why he was walking away. The last thing that he wanted to happen right now was to get involved in a confrontation with Malfoy, especially when all of the Slytherins were standing around the classroom door, whispering and waiting for a reaction. A girl cried out: "Slow him down, Weasley!"

"Get a load of this!"

"Hey, Malfoy – I don't think he wants to say "hi"!" Pansy Parkinson, a tight-lipped Slytherin laughed away behind the crowds.

_No, I don't. No, I don't. _All Harry wanted was to keep out of Malfoy's way, even if that meant stepping away from a good and proper comeback. What he wouldn't have given right then to turn around and show that he wasn't bothered by him coming back...if only he _didn't _care...

"Hey, Potter! Where are _you _off to?" Malfoy's voice, smug and slippery.

Hermione had at last caught up with Harry, but followed his lead, and did not look back. She took up her usual chant of: "Ignore him, ignore him..." perhaps to convince herself as well as the others. There were times when even she could not hold herself back from the likes of Draco Malfoy.

A long, pregnant silence followed, that was only broken by footsteps on the cold, hard floor of the corridor.

"Potter! Don't walk away! What's the matter? Aren't you happy to see me?"

Harry grit his teeth hard at the slimy comments. _Damn him. Why has he come back, anyway? _he thought. _I can't believe that he **wanted **to. He would never..._Thousands of questions brimming with anger clouded his mind. Everything seemed to make no sense recently.

"That's right!" another Slytherin boy shouted after him. "You're too much of a coward, Potter. What were you expecting coming back after what happened this year? Why waste your time when you couldn't even - "

"You _what_?" Ron snarled, interrupting him, and spinning around on his heels.

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, turning around too.

A mocking of whoops and fake shrieks rang out along the group of Slytherins. Two Gryffindor girls that had just exited the classroom stopped in their tracks for a second to watch, and then quickly picked up speed down the corridor, clutching their books to their chests.

"Don't get _yourself_ uptight, Weasley!" Malfoy said, folding his arms. "This isn't even your fight, is it? What are you now, his bodyguard or something?"

"Stardom gone to his head, has it?" Pansy sneered, accompanied by a rowdy roar of gushing laughter from the group, mainly from the look on Ron's face.

He had gone to take another step towards them, one hand threateningly reaching inside of his robes, when Hermione's firm grip had halted him in his tracks. _No, Ron..._ she thought beseechingly. _He's impossible to deal with...they all are. _Her fingers were tight and she hoped her message would come through.

"Come on, let's go," she whispered softly. At the sound of her voice, Ron stared back into her eyes, calmed down a little and turned his back on the Slytherins, although a scowl was still clear on his face.

An immediate hoot of laughter followed them.

"Poor Weasley! Granger has you under her thumb!" Malfoy joked in his snooty voice. "I never thought I'd see you being ordered around by a girl, especially a stinking, dirty, know-it-all Mud - "

The rest of his disgusting taunts were lost as Ron violently spun around, tearing his arm out of Hermione's grip. She tried to grab him again in vain, but it was hopeless.

"_Ron_!" she cried in exasperation.

"Malfoy, I'm serious – if you don't shove off..."

"Oh, and what will _you _do about it?" Malfoy struck back, his confident grin now replaced with an obnoxious frown. The other Slytherins around him sniggered and nodded towards Ron, as though mocking his temper. "We all saw you in Flitwick's. You're so backwards you couldn't even aim your Summoning charms...is it because you have no brain cells? Or can't you afford any?"

Pansy broke out into another batch of giggles. Ron made to lunge forward.

"_No, _Ron!"

Hermione reached out and caught his hand before he could do anything drastic, attempting to pull him back. _Malfoy really knows how to wind him up, _she thought. _If he carries on, he'll do something he'll regret – even end up in serious trouble... _The best she did was to calm him down...a little.

Both boys stood apart from one another, staring the other out.

"Listen here, Malfoy – I don't care what you say about me, but when you talk about my friends like that..." Ron mumbled, his cheeks burning pink with rage. As always, it caused his freckles to stand out enormously, making his appearance rather amusing. His right hand was still dangerously close to the inside of his robes. _Just one word..._

Malfoy sniggered, but it was difficult to tell why. "Weasley, you sad little - "

"Oh, _stop it_!" Hermione snapped, quickly stepping in between them, frowning. Her hair fell into her eyes as she turned her head, glaring at them both. "This is getting ridiculous." _They're both arguing over nothing...none of this is important, _she thought to herself, more annoyed than anything.

Malfoy was just about to snarl back a venomous reply when Professor Flitwick, unknowingly, stepped into the corridor and was rather startled to see so many people outside of his classroom.

The silence immediately fell into the corridor and everyone backed off, resuming their relaxed positions and watching their feet very carefully. Ron dropped his hand from his robes as quick as a flash, placing it on the back of his neck.

Flitwick stared up at them all, very confused, and asked them, "My, my...what's all this?" His shrill voice went even higher when he raised a question.

"Nothing," Malfoy murmured an inaudible response, offering Hermione a soundless scowl as he followed the others down the opposite corridor. He never looked back once, and it wasn't until every last Slytherin has disappeared before Ron made his move to depart too. Flitwick was looking back and forth curiously.

_Quick, _Ron thought as his footsteps hit the floor. _Before he starts asking more questions..._

Hermione gave her teacher an apologetic smile before catching up with Ron. Neither of them said a word to one another until they had turned around the corner, and even then it was uncomfortable conversation.

Ron was starting to feel slightly embarrassed that he had lost his temper like that, so sudden after Malfoy's return to Hogwarts. _It was his fault, _he reminded himself. _He shouldn't have started on Harry like that...I was just defending him. _

"Sorry," he said again for the seventh time, "but you saw why I fought back."

Hermione just rolled her eyes with a click of her tongue and stepped into the Grand Staircase hallway. "That was no excuse to badger him further, though," she said, matter-of-factly. "You could have just ignored, him...walked away! That would have shown him up more then actually giving him what he wanted."

_How many times do I have to tell them? _she wondered to herself thoughtfully.

"Well, yeah..." Ron said slowly, "but he's just so..."

"I know, I know, 'you can't help it'," Hermione quoted him, lifting her book bag over her shoulder. "Honestly – you and Harry are exactly the same. That's why I didn't bother telling you...I knew you would flip. Just let it go, now, please? Malfoy knew you would fight back as much as I did!"

Ron just frowned to himself and ruffled the crown of his head with his hand. There were sometimes when Hermione was just _right, _and there was nothing he could say to prove her wrong. This was one of those times.

"You didn't exactly turn your back on him in third year, did you?" he argued softly. "Now, you can't deny that you didn't "flip" yourself? You gave him your hardest slap!" _Well, the hardest I've seen..._ Ron corrected himself.

Hermione had suddenly gone rather quiet, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Well...that was different – I was overworked, there was the Committee going on, and – and it wasn't over something as _petty _as _this, _so, yes...it's quite different..." She approached the portrait of the Fat Lady, keeping her face away from Ron and muttering the password under her breath.

Ron shook his head to himself as he followed. _I can't win with her. _

They found Harry in the common room, writing something angrily onto parchment, his face firm and set. Dean Thomas was in the left corner, playing a game of Gobstones with Neville, eyeing him worriedly. It was apparent that Harry hadn't fully calmed down yet, though he was dealing with it better than Ron had.

Hermione and Ron approached him from behind, her hand gently stroking his shoulder. "Harry?"

He jumped at her touch, spinning around, but settling and turning back with a sigh when he saw it was her. He placed his head onto his fist as he continued to write, this time without as much force. Ron brought a chair away from the other side of the room and sat himself in front of Harry, trying not to be interested in what was on the parchment.

Hermione bit her lip. _He looks so unhappy..._ she thought miserably. "Harry?"

"Mate, I know it's bad news that Malfoy's back and everything," Ron said, trying his best to reassure. "But...it's not like it's for a whole year or anything. Couple of weeks, he'll be gone. Then we've just got after the summer to worry about him."

It was funny to hear Ron talking like this, only minutes after threatening Malfoy just for saying a few harsh words. He couldn't hide a blush when he caught Hermione smirking out of the corner of his eye.

_All right, I admit it – perhaps I did rush in without thinking, _he thought. _But there's no chance I'm letting her rub it in._

Harry lifted his head up and smiled at Ron in front of him. "I know."

"Good," Hermione said immediately, before anyone else could say otherwise. She moved around to drop her bag in one of the armchairs, hugging Harry from behind on her way. "Cheer up, we just have to enjoy ourselves in the meantime. We can't just let some big-headed Slytherins divide our concentration."

_This is **definitely **one of those times where Hermione is just **right, **_Ron smiled.

Hermione sat down in the armchair, looking very comfortable beside the fire, and searched through her bag for her notes.

Ron cleared his throat slowly, peering over the table and trying to read Harry's neatened scrawls upside down...or what he could see past the arm that was attempting to cover it up. "What're you writing?"

Harry took a deep breath, placing the end of his quill to his mouth, and letting the feather trail over his lips. "A letter to Sirius," he explained. "He sent me one before I came, wanting me to tell him how everything was going in the first couple of days." He noticed how hard he had been pressing the nib into the parchment, and stared for a moment.

"Oh," Ron replied. "Did you mention Malfoy at all?"

Harry glanced up at him, no emotion in his face. _What do you think? _

"No," he said. "That's not really important."

Ron chewed on his lip and made no response, his gaze wandering over to Neville and Dean, still involved in their game of Gobstones.

_I know Harry's got something more on his mind, _he thought to himself. _Even if he doesn't want to talk about it...even though he says there isn't, there **is. **He can't fool us. _

"Harry... " Ron started reluctantly, his brow furrowed in concern and his voice tight in his throat. "You're..."

Hermione's small cry of disdain shot up from the corner of the room. Harry and Ron couldn't tell whether she was using it for mild distraction or not.

"What's the matter?" Ron asked her, turning around on his chair.

Hermione had unravelled her timetable and was looking at it with an expression of mild terror, and also surprise. "I didn't even notice that we had another History of Magic lesson so close to our last!" she exclaimed. "I mean, it's only a short one – half an hour – but still...the teachers must really want us to catch up on that subject or something..." her voice trailed off. _That seems strange…_

Harry leant forward onto the desk, continuing to write his letter carefully. "Maybe the class tests weren't going so well last year," he pondered aloud, dipping the end of his quill into his ink bottle.

Ron groaned and leant backwards, his hands behind his head. "I don't see the point having History of Magic. It's a stupid, worthless lesson."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed impatiently, folding up her timetable again and placing it back into her bag. "Without History of Magic, where would we wizards today understand and learn who made all of those discoveries hundreds of years ago? There are thousands of important remedies now, and modern activities that we often take for granted - "

"Be quiet, you and your hundreds-and-thousands," Ron interrupted, making a ridiculed gesture with his fingers below his chin, causing Harry to laugh out loud.

_How did I guess that Hermione would easily defend a subject that has completely been formed from books? _Ron thought incredulously. _I mean...honestly!_

Hermione glared at him, placing her palms onto her knees and leaning forward. "Without History of Magic, you wouldn't have been able to complete your homework assignment, so...there." She finished rather feebly, and she sat back again, fuming...her eyes bright.

"Without History of Magic, there wouldn't have _been _an assignment, so _there_!"

"Oh..." Hermione sighed in frustration, falling back heavily into the chair. "Really, Ron, you could say that about any of the subjects here! Potions, Charms...Transfiguration – you need to learn these things to advance after you leave Hogwarts – and yes - " she quickly cut in, as Ron opened his mouth to protest, "even the greatest wizards and witches struggled in life without History of Magic, _so there._"

Ron just shot her an impertinent glower and fidgeted around on his seat. _There's no point arguing with her, _he pouted. _Even when she knows I'm right, she won't admit it. She just can't stand being in the wrong. That's just so bloody typical of her. Everything has to be her way..._

Thinking fast, Harry picked up his own copy of _A History of Magic _and hunted through it, clearing his throat.

"So, Ron," he trailed slowly, making sure he had his friend's attention, "Professor Binns would have probably marked our assignments by the time we have that extra lesson. Who was it that you wrote about, again?"

Overjoyed and satisfied with him, Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Oh, it was, um... Gertie Keddle, yeah, that was her name," Ron smiled. "D'you know, she had the first written accounts of how Quidditch was played? She used to see broomstick games on the Queerditch marsh and everything."

"I knew," Hermione slipped in casually. Ron pretended to ignore her.

"Anyway, I was pretty surprised to find anything about Quidditch in that ruddy book," he continued. "But I suppose it makes sense, seeing how she basically founded it and all. If it wasn't for those diary entries she..."

_Huh? Diary? _Harry's head shot up at the word.

Ron quickly blushed, facing his head towards the floor. _Great...another stupid mistake, _he thought glumly."You know what? Never mind."

Trying to forget about it, Harry located the name among the pages and read the passage there carefully. Everything that Ron had described was correct. _Wow, _he thought, not being able to conceal his amazement. _When Ron puts his mind to his interests, he's quite a Know-It-All himself. I'm not sure if he'd be glad to hear it though..._

"What about you, Hermione?" Harry asked, turning to face her by the fire. She appeared strangely eager to detail her homework to them, taking her hands off her knees and lying them in her lap.

"I wrote about Count Vlad Drakul," she said. "The notorious vampire who inspired Bram Stoker, the Muggle, to write his novel _Dracula. _He based it on his character, you know. Vlad the Impaler, another vampire, was his son." She beamed around at them both, looking rather pleased with herself.

Ron's eyebrows had shot into his hair and he bent his gaze down to stare her in the eye.

"Hark at you," he remarked quietly.

She just provided a defiant glare as a response, crossing her feet over one another. "I thought it would be interesting...choosing someone like a vampire," she stated casually. "Professor Binns mentioned in the lesson beforehand that extra marks may be awarded to those who picked – and I quote, "an unusual character"."

_That rule perhaps applies to anyone who is still awake to hear the reminders, I suppose...when the lesson is finally over, _she thought to herself.

"Oh...sorry, Hermione..." Harry's voice broke over her wave of glory, glancing up from the book with his face pulled taut. "But...I don't think that you're going to get _any _marks."

Ron turned around to stare at him, frowning a little in astonishment.

There was a slow, stunned silence, broken by Hermione's squeak. "What?"

Harry spun the book around to show her, on the page where her subject character should be. It wasn't there. There was no record that Count Vlad Drakul ever existed with the bindings.

Hermione just stared in horror, shaking her head slowly. _But...that's impossible! _she cried in her head. _It was there when I wrote it...it was **there...**I wouldn't just make up something like this...it was there..._

"But...my copy had it..." she stammered out, in shock, rapidly searching in desperation for her own book. "I swear to you, Harry...I would not use any other book besides the one that Professor Binns provided..." She was already flicking through pages frantically.

_I don't think she'll find it, _Harry thought, feeling a bit sorry for her, and checking to see if he had missed any section by accident. _No, not there. Maybe she misread the wrong book...or thought she had memorized something...and have got them mixed up..._

Ron didn't really know who to believe. He scratched his head in wonder as Hermione finally carried her book over to the table. She practically _ran _there.

"_There_! See, I knew that I didn't make a mistake! Count Vlad Drakul, right there!" She pointed triumphantly, her breathing finally settling down to a regular pace.

Harry could only stare. He leant forward, squinting at the text sprawled out onto the parchment. _But...then...how does hers have it in, and not mine? _

Wild, strange questions scurried about in the corners of his brain, and he made a strange wheezing noise in disbelief. _This is one of the books I've never written in, never torn, and never accidentally damaged. How then...?_

He pulled her copy next to his, comparing the two. He swallowed softly, his eyes scanning down the list of names...none appearing within his own book. It was almost as though a page had been completely removed.

_This is so strange..._ he thought, a stiff feeling coming into his throat. _It seems as though everything is wrong with **me **all of a sudden. What's going on - ? Wait..._

His eyes lingered on one name down the list. For some reason, he felt as though he had seen it before. It was impossible...he didn't even know who it was...he had never heard anyone speak of it...but for some unknown reason...he _knew. _His finger stroked over the words slowly, as if he was trying to connect with them.

_Where have I heard that name before? _he asked himself. _Torac Demonio. Who is Torac Demonio?_


End file.
